Why a writer becomes a data analyst.

In the early 2000s, I found myself finishing a D.H. Lawrence novel and my Master's degree in English Literature, knowing that I couldn’t postpone the inevitable.

“For man, as for flower and beast and bird, the supreme triumph is to be most vividly, most perfectly alive.”

I stared despondently out of the window knowing I’d have to become an adult and join the workforce of worker bees that our capitalist system is founded upon.

Except I wasn’t bee.

Nor a worker ant.

I was a writer.

And it had been communicated to me often and from different sources as I was growing up, that being a writer wasn’t a real profession — writers were crazy-weird-flaky people and so I felt I had to hide my real self like a dirty secret or an embarrassing uncle.

I applied for writing internship after internship when my course ended and submitted countless articles and essays but to no avail. My email inbox was empty. (I hadn’t yet understood the power of nepotism in London) so I was taking it extremely personally as fragile artist beings are want to do.

Knowing that I wanted to be in London and seeing no other way that would grant me immediate and easy access, I accepted the parent-sanctioned idea to apply for the TNS Kantar Group Graduate Scheme and, heartbroken, put aside my writing dreams. Miraculously, I passed a series of maths tests and found myself a Data Analyst in Shepherd’s Bush, West London.

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For the first two months, my head hurt every single day after work. I’d get back to my flatshare with my lovely friend Louise and retreat to my room. Soon, I was assigned a mentor who was “also creative”. We worked in groups consisting of other recent graduates and while I reallyyyyy disliked the job, I loved the close-knit group of amazing people we had and all those who believed in me, despite the … rather clear … mismatch.

Daily, I would look out of the window and write story notes. I failed the next stage together with my good friend Camilla who is now a seasoned lawyer. She was placed on the Fashion Team and I was put on the Alcohol Team, and to their credit, the company did everything they could to support us two in learning how to run switching analyses and work out the AWP and frequency and other calculations that our clients were after. And they were truly kind and understanding. But. It was no good.

You can’t teach a fish to breathe out of water.

And you can’t force people to thrive on their weaknesses. Nor write with their right hands, when they’re left-handed.

And you can’t turn a writer into a data analyst. Not really. Not ever.

So why did this happen? It wasn’t great for us and it wasn’t great for the company, but with a rather large intake I suppose they counted on one or two “rejects”.

Let’s go back a moment, though, to an afternoon at the Imperial War Museum with my then-boyfriend, Tom.

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It’s autumn turning into winter and the November skies are cold. We’d wandered through the whole museum in that kind of giddy honeymoon phase and two things stayed with me that will always stay with me. The photographs, which spoke of more than any of the exhibitions ever could, and the art created by survivors of different concentration camps. Their trauma had made it impossible for them to speak in words, but making art had helped them.

I kept lingering there and when Tom enquired what was going on, I admitted shyly, “I want to write.”

To this day he probably has no idea what his reply did for me.

“Oh, well, let’s go to the cafe and write. Inspiration shouldn’t be wasted.” He led me eagerly to the cafe, spread out his newspaper, and watched in fascination as pages and pages poured out of me.

I forgot he was there.

Sometimes, we need others to see us, in order for us to see ourselves. Months later, as our relationship flourished, I quit the job. And sometime after that, I began my life as a writer. All because he’d looked at me one day as I scribbled frantically on the underground before our Hanger Lane stop for work, and asked exasperated, “What are you still doing here?”

His anger on my behalf helped me realize that my particular creative pursuit had value and that, this was key, we all have a responsibility, to use our gifts. Otherwise, what are we doing with our time?

____

All in all, I’d lasted a year, but I’d started to fake sick days now and again so that I could write, write, write, holed up inside my Shepherd’s bush apartment, shooing away the occasional Jehova’s witness ringing our bell. I filled notebooks and notebooks. I needed to write so bad, that it physically hurt. That’s how strong the calling was. But how do you explain that to people who won’t hire you because you don’t have experience and yet you can’t get experience because no one will hire you? How do you say to your landlord that this month instead of rent you’d rather send them a poem or a screenplay? How do you tell your parents that you want to throw your expensive education into the wind and write? And then there’s yourself: how do you admit to yourself that this path you’re clearly going to have to walk is going to be harder than you thought in a world that doesn’t support the creative jobs and talents in a nice graduate scheme pre-prepared way that funnels bright students to already successful companies? How do you deal with all of this right out of university when you’ve barely learned how to take care of yourself?

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This is the part where I finally share what I wish someone had told me back then.

Own who you are

Firstly, accept your whole Self. As you are. That’s a lot for some of us. And then, find a tribe that values what you value. Though it happened to be my boyfriend who helped me, it can be a friend, another musician, a fellow engineer, or an artist. Meet those with similar interests so that you can inspire each other, and hold each other accountable too. When you share your aligned Self and vision, people often want to get behind it with you! This happened to me with my coaching practice and to Upheal’s co-founder (my boss, Juraj). There are a lot of us on the team!

Know that you might be the first

You won't like this much, my lovely gifted readers, but know that you might be the trailblazers. The founders. The firsts. From your family, class, or community. And if what you want to do is “creative” or “unusual” or doesn’t exist yet, like say, an AI-powered marketing tool, the chances are, you might be the one that has to take all the branches in the face. You’ll walk the harder path for others, but it’s more rewarding than trying to fit into an existing system, institution, title, job, relationship, or cliche.

Avoid the nay-sayers and your weaknesses

Try to mingle with those who uplift and inspire you. And focus on your strengths, not your weaknesses. Psychologists say it’s the way forward anyway. That’s not to say you shouldn’t ever self-improve your weaknesses. But don’t waste all your time trying to be a fish when you’re clearly a butterfly. I’m guessing you already know who you are too. Focus on that and you’ll be much happier (and healthier too). The research supports it.

Make a small stepping-stone move

Sometimes we need to start with a stepping-stone move, not a total change. That’s okay. Work out your plan in advance: factor in the transitions, and the “not-quite-it” but heading in the right direction moves. Don’t expect perfection or immediate victory. Make several-years-down-the-line-plans. It’s a healthier, more realistic outlook, than trying to do everything all at once. (We know that doing everything is likely to result in achieving nothing — so don’t be afraid to prioritize.)

Pay attention to chance encounters

Network and then network some more. Not in a fake kind of way, but in an “I’m curious and open to the world and other people’s dreams”, kind of way. It’s likely that you’ll meet many talented people like yourself with whom you can exchange skills, time, and talents. Take advantage of that. You never know when you’ll need a designer, programmer, or project manager.

That’s it for today, campers. Tune in next time, for some more wisdom, so you can build a happy working and living kind of life. (When you do it right, there is no such thing as work-life balance.)